


The Welcoming Dawn

by deactivatedaio



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 17:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21581089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deactivatedaio/pseuds/deactivatedaio
Summary: Three Codex entries found throughout Thedas, each explaining part of the strange fate of the former Inquisitor - and the line between woman and weapon becomes harder and harder to discern.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Female Mage Lavellan & Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Lavellan & Solas
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	1. "A letter found in the Temple of Mythal"

__ _  
_

_“Ir abelas, vhenan.”_

_“Tel’abelas. If you care, then give me the truth.”_

\---

**A letter, written in a wide, light hand, found resting on a boulder near a statue of Fen’Harel in the abandoned Temple of Mythal. It is weighed down by a perfect sphere of Paragon’s Luster that shimmers in the wan light, flickering sporadically with an unknown enchantment. The paper has been slightly torn, but the writing is still legible. There is no greeting or address.**

\---

If it must come to this, then let me be honest with you. I know that is not your natural inclination, but please bear with me. I believe you deserve to be ready for what is to come. There is much to be said and precious little time in which to say it.

After Mythal, when you pulled away from me, I was furious. You disappeared entirely after Corypheus fell, and for two years that hot fury cooled and hardened into a heavy weight that pulled at me, making every day feel as though I were drowning. By the next time I saw you, you had completely donned the guise of Fen’Harel. Still, there was lightness in my heart when I heard your voice and looked into your eyes. It was not enough to negate that awful despair in the pit of my stomach, even when you told me what we had was real, when you saved me from the certain death that the Anchor promised.

You always saved me, saved all of us over and over, but for what? You would still watch the world burn, knowing full well that I - and those you called “friends” - will burn with it. Yet again, you walked away, left me angry and alone. That time, though, the fire of fury was banked. It became white-hot coals, and I nursed it. I have embraced my anger and turned it into fuel. That is why I write to you now. My love for you impels me to do no less for you than what you have done for me so many times before. I have no desire to see you end while in discomfort.

I know there is nothing I can say or do to separate the man in you from the monster. I do not wish to try. I only want you to heed my words, to hold them somewhere close to your heart for when you need them. Because you will need them, and soon.

 _“Ar lath ma, vhenan”._ It echoes through my dreams, that phrase. I know you hear it, too. If I have succeeded, you hear more than remnants and whispers. For years I have worked, studied, and practiced. Now, I can walk in the Fade through dreaming, unburdened by physical location or flawed memory. I believe you have achieved the same, but you had much longer to learn than I. Still, I have finally, finally, found a way to track you. To find you. What surprises me is that you allowed it to happen. You had to know, by coming to me in my dreams, that you would tie your spirit to mine. Did you realize what that would mean, Solas? Or was that just another mistake in a long line of misjudgements and miscalculations?

Do you remember what finally drew you out of hiding? After you took my mark from me, I called in every favor at my disposal to try and track you down, but to no avail. Three years later, I was still empty-handed, despite seeing you haunt the edges of my dreams most nights, knowing you were just out of reach. We had no idea where to begin, not even Leliana with all her spies and sway.

When the Inquisition dissolved, I needed new strength and purpose. I gathered together those who would create the tools that I could use to find you and to shore up what you wanted to destroy. Dagna, a true Paragon of magic - the first, in fact - was essential in this. She worked enchantments that would have destroyed the mind and will of a lesser mage. Varric leveraged his influence and was able to find a craftswoman to replace what I lost to the Anchor. Bianca, who had much for which to atone, built an instrument so fine that it was almost indiscernible from a real arm, using techniques not seen since ancient Dwarven golems - and some that had never been seen before. She inlaid the lightest, strongest stone and metal with lyrium so Dagna’s enchantments had somewhere to take hold. When I touched it, it glowed softly, beating like a pulse.

The tool was ready, but the wielder was not. I could not use the arm without being changed, prepared for its magic. Varric, again, knew someone who knew someone. An elf - isn’t it always? - who had been tattooed in lyrium by his Magister slaver and turned into a living weapon. When Varric told me his name, I laughed aloud. Fenris. What irony, that this man named “little wolf” would be so instrumental in finding you. Although with much hesitation, he was eventually persuaded to replicate the process he had been forced to undergo. The pain of it, worse than the Anchor, worse than any injury or illness, almost consumed me.

The only way my mind did not fracture from the strain was because I had Dorian holding it together. It was his will, and my desire to find you, that kept me from being irrevocably lost. Before Cole disappeared for the final time, he and Dorian spent weeks at my side, working the magical bindings through the lyrium veins in the arm and in my flesh, linking it to my very spirit. You owe Dorian my life, even though soon enough, you may curse him for keeping me whole.

I spent months half-alive and half-lucid after the binding. Each time I drifted too close to the Beyond, I saw you come closer, a great black shape at the edge of my consciousness that was both reassuring and overwhelming, pushing me back from the brink. When you found me in the Fade, finally approaching without wearing the wolf’s mask, I barely registered my own existence, let alone yours. I remember that you told me you could feel my pain, and you asked what I had done. Over and over, you asked it: what had I done? It tore at you, you said. “I would not see you suffer, vhenan”. Those words, so softly spoken but holding such anger and fear, finally sharpened my mind and roused my spirit. Still, I did not trust you, thinking you only a figment of my fevered dream.

Then you put your hand on my face. Even in the Fade, it was cool and gentle and familiar. I came back to myself for just long enough to see you clearly, just long enough to put my lips to yours - all instinct, no thought - and you did not pull away. I could have cried for the sweetness of that kiss, ma’ lath. And I did, later.

What we did during our stolen moment behind the Veil took my pain away; the physical agony of the binding and the emotional turmoil of years without you. Did you take the pain with you? Dispel it? Give it to someone you felt was deserving? I still do not know the answer, and I probably never will. That gift - your touch, your words - joined our spirits into one. It was a brief and shining light in the darkness, with your face over mine, my body against yours. Soft sighs, a sob, a shattering. An unbreakable promise. You healed me with your touch, turned all the suffering into sweetness, and then sent me into a sleep so deep that even the Fade could not find it. Your final gift, you said, a whisper I heard as I sank away.

When I awoke, I could still taste you.

Finally, I recovered and could not put off the inevitable any longer. With the memory of you burned into my mind, I was full of renewed purpose. I knew I had not lost you, the real you, the man unobscured by the darkness you carry. Yet you still planned to tear down the Veil and, with it, the world. So I worked. I studied. I traveled Thedas, to the Imperium under the protection of their most powerful Magister, deep into the underbelly of Orzammar with a small army of Seekers. I discovered the secrets of blood mages, Dreamers, and Tranquil. A way to keep you from your goal coalesced, and finally, I only needed to learn the abilities to put it into motion.

Eventually, I found a mage hiding high in the Anderfels who was half man, half spirit, broken and suffering under the weight of his decisions. He taught me what he knew of the Fade’s secrets: dark, hidden things that we were never meant to discover, but that I needed to know if my plan was to succeed. It was his repentance, he said, and he was more than happy to bestow the burden of justice for the world on me. I took all that his spirit had to offer before it, and he, departed this world. He carried the key I needed to unlock the Fade. I worked those arcane magics, and though it cost me dearly, I became the way to protect that which you seek to tear down.

This letter is my vow to you, ma’ lath. I fell in love with you in dreams of Haven, on the battlefields of the Arbor Wilds, in the tower of Skyhold. I have always known who you are, Solas. I also know that you abandoned me because you felt I needed to see and accept what you have become, what you claim you always were.

No. I refuse.

I refuse to allow you to run away, to forget who you are, to ignore what you have here in this world. No long-dead past or hypothetical future is as important as this present, as our present, if only you would accept it. Since you will not, I promise to always be there to remind you of what you would see destroyed. I will follow you anywhere, everywhere. I will be light to your darkness, truth to your lies, warmth to your cold, familiarity to your distance. I will undo every action and right every wrong that you leave in your wake.

I will never leave you. I cannot. You belong to me as much as I belong to you, now, Solas. Every time you rush into the woods to escape this reality, into the Fade and into your dreams, I will be at your heels. If only you would turn to face the world you wish to leave behind, I would be there to welcome you with light and laughter and love. With the chance to make something new. With hope. You refuse to accept a new day, but you cannot stop the rising sun from banishing the old darkness. I have become as that sun to your shadows.

Believe this, if you believe in nothing else: I will not give up on you, even if your redemption only comes in the form of both of our deaths. I have discovered what I must do, learned how to cage the beast in you. I will not let you escape your pain, or mine, ever again. If I have to suffer for it, if the world must suffer for it, then so will you.

If you must be the Dread Wolf, then I will be the Welcoming Dawn.

I will rise.

_Ar dirtha'var'en, ma' lath._

\---

**A wisp of Fade magic still lingers, curling like smoke as it hangs in the air. The boulder that held the letter sits unadorned in front of the lone wolf. A long, crooked piece of bone rests near it, wrapped tightly in a frayed leather cord. The orb made of Paragon's Luster lies cracked in two near the base of the statue, still sparking with magic. The statue’s face is badly chipped, seemingly from the impact of the orb hitting it with considerable force.**

**Where the letter once sat, words have been carved into the stone, their edges smooth and the grooves shallow, as though done by a finger drawn through snow.**

**They read:**

**_“Garas, vhenan, ara ena'vun.”_ **


	2. "A report by University of Orlais mages to Lord Seeker Cassandra"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Codex entries found throughout Thedas, each explaining part of the strange fate of the former Inquisitor - and the line between woman and weapon becomes harder and harder to discern.

  


___  
_

**A report by the University of Orlais mage-scholars from the Temple of Mythal investigations, as requested by Lord Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. Compiled by the Second Enchanter of the University Mage’s College.**

Esteemed Lord Seeker Cassandra,

We found these words carved into stone exactly as your scouts reported:

_“Garas, vhenan, ara ena'vun.”_

It means “come, heart, my dawn/sunrise/new day”. At least, that’s what the elf scholars in Val Royeaux tell me. I did not believe the rumors that writing had been found at the abandoned Temple of Mythal, but now that I’ve seen it with my own two eyes… well, all I can say is that it wasn’t there before, not when we sent Inquisition scouts in to survey the damage done by Corypheus.

We recovered the orb of Paragon’s Luster. If it was once enchanted, only whispers of magic remain. No one can make out what its intended use might have been. I have included it in this package for your review, however. Make of it what you will.

Another curious discovery is that the statue of Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf who we now know to be Solas, is damaged. Again, it was not like this when we searched the Temple all those years ago. A good chunk of the side of the Wolf’s face was knocked off by the orb, which clearly had been thrown or shot at the statue from a good distance away.

I know this leaves you with more questions than answers. Who left the orb? Who damaged the statue? Who wrote the words in the rock, and why? What is the “dawn” or “sunrise” supposed to represent?

I believe the message is from the Dread Wolf himself, but in response to what, I cannot say.

Lord Seeker, I hope you can make more of this than we at the university have been able. If you do uncover any mysteries, I would be grateful to hear of your findings.

_Most sincerely,  
The University of Orlais Mage-Scholars_

\---

Lord Seeker Cassandra,

Thank you for sending along your letter. I received it only last week, although from the date it appears to have been held up for a number of days during delivery. Please pardon the lateness in my reply.

To answer your question, no, there was no echo of Rift magic in the area when we arrived. Very few mages are appropriately trained in such skills, though - one of whom is Solas, and another, the former Inquisitor Aeval Lavellan. I have to wonder if you believe one or both of them could have been at the location, and be the source of the mystery we now discuss? Surely you know more about Inquisitor Lavellan’s whereabouts than I, however.

We have made a new discovery in our investigations into the source of the Paragon’s Luster orb, which I am glad report. It seems Inquisitor Lavellan was seen in the Anderfels where she had the orb created by a local hermit who also happens to be a master arcanist. This apparently occurred not long before the body of apostate mage and terrorist, Anders, was found. Before that, she had been on an excursion into the Deep Roads with your Seekers, which I mention because I am hoping she told you whether or not she planned to track him down. He evaded capture for over a decade, and if she was finally able to find him and bring him to justice during her other errands, there are many people around Ferelden and Orlais who would like to thank her for it. I knew him, too, and I’d like to thank her on behalf of my family, to whom he caused so much pain.

Also - and I speak only for myself, not on behalf of the University - Anders’s body was found in an… unusual state. In short, it was completely desiccated, as if sucked dry. Despite that, there were no signs of injury, illness, or struggle. If it was the Inquisitor who delivered the swift sword of Justice, how she did so is, to be frank, quite concerning. We have never seen magic like that. As far as I am aware, what was done to him is impossible by any means, magical or physical, that anyone has at their disposal. Perhaps you know more? It may be important in our inquiries into the mystery at the Temple of Mythal, especially if it was not the Inquisitor who killed Anders.

Again, I look forward to your response, if you have the time to give it. Learning more will help us understand what is at work here immensely.

_Yours,  
Second Enchanter Bethany Hawke on behalf of the Orlesian Mage-Scholars_

\---

Lord Seeker,

I apologize if my questions were out of line. You are correct - I do not presume to know the motivations of Inquisitor Lavellan. I am certain any actions she takes are done with only the best interest of all of us at heart. She did, after all, save us from certain death multiple times.

I have, at your request, limited access to this report and the letters herein to only myself, the First Enchanter, and the head of the University. Thank you for trusting us to come to your aid in this matter.

Your letter shines a light on many of our questions, although I do not necessarily like what they reveal. We all knew that the Inquisitor was recently bestowed an enchanted “golem-arm”. Indeed, University scholars (and mages across Thedas) are studying its construction and enchantment as I write this. What I did not realize, however, was the lengths to which she had to go in order to be able to use the arm. How she did not die is quite remarkable.

Interestingly, I knew Fenris briefly, before I became part of the Kirkwall circle. He accompanied my sister Meare quite often in her ventures. I am not surprised to learn that he was instrumental in making the arm functional. His abilities are truly exceptional and unique.

It could potentially be that Inquisitor Lavellan has learned how to navigate the Fade well enough to find Solas as he moves through it. All mages use the Fade to cast and to dream, and he would be no different, I assume. The First Enchanter agrees that it is possible, and has advised me on some ways that the Inquisitor could potentially accomplish this. Can you not ask her about her methods yourself, however? Another impertinent question, perhaps, but one that I believe bears asking. If you do not know what she can do, then who, if anyone, does?

Your other inquiry regarding procuring a large amount of enchanted lyrium also necessitates some clarifying questions. Surely you have access to more lyrium than even we do here at the University - perhaps it’s the enchanting that you need done? We have some fine enchanters, certainly, but the First Enchanter has asked that I make certain what you request is truly needed. It will be very dangerous for us, after all, if we are to undertake this particular task.

Again, please do not hesitate to correct or redirect me in any way you feel is appropriate. We are at your disposal.

_\-- Bethany_

\---

Lord Seeker et al.,

Many thanks for your response. We have already begun enchanting the lyrium you requested, and we will send word through Mistress Leliana’s scouts as soon as it is nearly complete.

We are also preparing their shipment containers to be sent to the location you indicated. I have never been to the Exalted Plains - it will be an interesting experience, for certain. Both I and the First Enchanter will accompany the delivery in case things do not go as planned.

One of our scholars says that there is a Dalish tribe nearby the location to which we will deliver the lyrium. The First Enchanter would like to know if there is anything that can be done to protect them in case of an incident. Please advise at your leisure.

_As ever,  
Bethany_

\---

Seeker Fairbanks,

Your reply is heartening. I hope Lord Seeker Cassandra and her companions have a safe and swift journey to the Exalted Plains. We are already en route, having received your letter at our stop in Emprise du Lion. We should arrive shortly before they do, which gives us plenty of time to prepare the lyrium as you have instructed. Thank you for including the thorough diagrams.

To your other question - no, Inquisitor Lavellan is not with us. We assumed she would be accompanying the Lord Seeker. I will send word immediately if we see or hear from her.

_\-- Bethany_

\---

**The report includes a map with a location in the west of the Exalted Plains marked which appears to be ancient Dalish ruins that lie just along the river’s edge. Also present are a series of instructions about placement and safeguards regarding the enchanted lyrium, and a rubbing of the words carved into the Mythal boulder. The word “vhenan” has been underlined twice, and part of an annotation, _“weren’t they toge”_ , can be seen scratched-out beneath it.**


	3. "A letter from Varric Tethras to Sparkler"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Codex entries found throughout Thedas, each explaining part of the strange fate of the former Inquisitor - and the line between woman and weapon becomes harder and harder to discern.

___  
_

**A letter addressed simply to “Sparkler”, bearing the signature of Varric Tethras. Another name has been added next to the original address, “Magister Dorian Pavus”, to indicate proper delivery. The letter is creased and worn as though folded and unfolded multiple times.**

\---

Hey Sparkler,

Cassandra strong-armed me into writing this for you, but I agreed because I knew you’d be waiting for news - and because she scares me. I feel like she only invited me along because she wanted someone who could write down the story afterward, you know? Maybe that’s the whole reason I was part of the Inquisition for so long. It sure isn’t because of my stunning good looks. We all know to whom that honor belongs - our favorite mage. Vivienne. 

And you, of course. Ha, ha.

I know what you’re thinking - “get to the point, Varric!” - I can just hear it that uppity tone of yours. Keep your shiny pants on, Sparkler. I know I’m burying the lede. This story… well, it’s not one that I ever wanted to write, that’s for sure. You probably want to sit down for this, if you aren’t already reclining on a pile of silken cushions.

So, the beginning. Cassandra, myself, Iron Bull, and a handful of his Chargers went with some of Leliana’s scouts to the Exalted Plains. We were supposed to meet a delegation of mage-scholars from the University of Orlais, but by the time we arrived, they had already unloaded their cargo and cut and run. I can’t blame them - sitting in a perfect circle were huge pillars of pure lyrium, almost sizzling with some kind of magical enchantment, weird runes carved all over them. One wrong move and the whole place could have gone up even worse than the Kirkwall Chantry had. Remember, I saw that happen with my own two eyes. It was bad, but this would have been much worse.

Cassandra surveyed the set-up and dispatched the scouts. She told them to make sure the surrounding areas were evacuated. Decisions like that is why she’s trusted with the biggest swords. We set up camp in the ancient Elven ruins at the water’s edge. We were supposed to meet Lavellan there, but she had apparently not been travelling with the mages as we assumed. So we waited.

Night fell, and we were getting a little twitchy. We kept our minds mostly off of the giant lyrium bombs next door by telling dirty stories. Too bad you weren’t there, Sparkler. Bull told one that would have lit your perfect hair on fire. 

Around midnight, we heard a commotion at the edge of the camp. It was the Iron Lady, her voice ringing out clear and stark against the quiet night. “Just put it down, get on your horses, and ride as far and as fast as you can away from here.” Her people dropped off a large crate and did as she commanded with expedience, as you can probably imagine. She may actually frighten me more than Cassandra does.

In a cacophony of pointy hat and white vestments, Vivienne strode into camp, full of questions. No, Lavellan still isn’t here, we said. Yes, we are planning on waiting all night if necessary until she shows up. Yes, you can have Bull’s tent since it is larger. Et cetera, et cetera.

We did, too, - wait, that is - for at least another few hours. Instead of dirty stories (Vivenne’s glare killed that idea dead, let me tell you), we shot the shit and played cards. When Lavellan finally appeared out of the gloom, no one said a word. Only Cassandra stood, hand on her sword, waiting.

Dorian, she looked like hell. Like she had eaten some bad meat at a Lowtown tavern and spent three days getting it out of her system. She was pale, and the lyrium veins snaking through her skin stood out like a disease. Her eyes were shadowed, her movements slow. If someone had told me she’d died and come back to life - again - I’d have believed them.

Still, you’d be proud of your girl. She smiled at us, truly, warmly, and that smile felt like old times. She doesn’t let anything take her down, does she? Cassandra didn’t relax - I’m not sure she actually possesses that ability - but she did take her hand off her sword. Lavellan greeted us all, even each of the Chargers by name, and followed Cassandra into a tent. After she was out of sight, we all looked back and forth at each other, like characters in a bad play. Something seemed off. We were somehow more worried than earlier, when we thought she’d been eaten by a giant on her way there.

I knew it was bad when I heard Cassandra raise her voice inside the tent. A barely-restrained shout, _“No!”_ , was punctuated by a slam, probably Cassandra’s fist on the table. Lavellan’s response was too quiet to hear, but Cassandra stormed out of the tent, face stony, eyes sharp. She stomped over to a tree, leaned against it with a dull clank, crossed her arms, and looked pointedly away from Lavellan. To her credit, our beloved once-Inquisitor did, in fact, look chastised - but she also looked determined. She settled down next to Krem at the fire, and motioned us all over.

“It’s time I told you why you’re all here.” She addressed each of us in turn, her voice low but firm. “I was not… completely forthcoming with Cassandra, so there is much that you don’t know. I’m sorry for that. Before I told anyone, I had to make sure it would work.”

“We can handle it, boss. Whatever ‘it’ is.” This from Bull. Krem nodded. The one that doesn’t say much at all - Grim? - grunted in what I assume was agreement.

“Yes, darling. Do tell.” Added by the Iron Lady, obviously.

I just listened, and Cassandra fumed silently behind us, still glaring into the darkened ruins.

Lavellan watched the fire, probably because it was easier that way to get it all said than if she were able to see our reactions. I assume you knew her plan, Dorian, but in case you didn’t, here’s the most accurate explanation I can give. I think I’m remembering it all correctly.

She told us that she had been travelling Thedas for months learning magic and spells and all kinds of arcane shit, hoping to find a way to stop ~~Chuckles~~ Solas. (Sorry, old habits.) She’d figured out a way that should be able to force him out of his body and into the Fade permanently, locking his spirit there, separating him from this world forever. It sounded kind of like what happens to the Tranquil, but more extreme. 

She had also apparently learned how to track him down while in the Fade in order to draw him out. But there was a catch - there always is, after all. There had to be a conduit for this ritual, and it had to be her.

Everyone absorbed this information for a moment. Then Bull asked the most important question:

“What will happen to you, boss?”

But Lavellan didn’t look at him, just kept staring at the dancing flames. His brows came down like a thunderhead hitting the Storm Coast. He knew the answer. We all knew.

“Surely there’s another option, my dear,” Iron Lady stated pragmatically. “We can call back one of the Mage Scholars. They have plenty of ability, and they can’t have gone far. We shall send a runner right away.”

“Or we could just shoot Solas in the head with a nice, sharp arrow,” Krem offered under his breath.

Iron Bull gestured as if to say _“See? Options!”_ , but Lavellan shook her head once, emphatically.

“Tell them.” Cassandra’s voice, cold, cut through the night air from where she sulked in the shadows behind us.

Lavellan sighed. “Solas and I have become… tangled. Bound in the Beyond. He probably didn’t know it would happen, or he wouldn’t have-” _(I need you to imagine that she cleared her throat slightly here, because she did, and we all knew exactly what that little cough meant)_ “-done what he did. But it is what it is. If he goes, so do I.” She cast her gaze around the camp. “There’s no other way.”

Cassandra shoved away from the tree and stalked over. Lavellan glanced up at her. “This is idiotic. There has to be another way. There is always another way.” She punctuated that word, _“always”_ , pretty heavily, as though she could make it so through sheer force of will.

“No. There isn’t. Not this time.” Lavellan replied gently. Iron Bull snorted and crossed his arms and Vivienne looked vaguely disapproving, but we were all resolved to see this through. What else could we do?

The Seeker made one of those disgusted noises - you know the ones - and turned to push her way through her tent’s heavy fabric. It fell closed behind her. Lavellan just shook her head slightly and turned back to the rest of us.

“I have spent the last three days walking the Fade. I tracked Solas there, left him a trail back here. If I’m correct, he’s hiding somewhere near Lothering. That means he should get here within the next day, depending on his haste. We need to be prepared. He has already weakened the Veil, straining it so tightly in some places that it is ready to shred. With every success he has, he grows more powerful and more dangerous.” Her eyes glinted, hard and impassive. “We can wait no longer. I need to act now.”

“How do you know he’ll come?” I asked, having been uncharacteristically quiet for far too long.

Lavellan raised an eyebrow and frowned a little. “Truly? I don’t. But I would be surprised if he didn’t. The messages I left him in the Fade, with the spirits there, all say the same thing: I know how to kill him, and I’m going to do it during the first dawn after the new moon. Here, in the Dales. If he wants to stop me, he’d better get here by then - otherwise, everything he’s worked for is for nothing.”

Vivienne gestured vaguely with one elegant hand. “Yes” she said, drawing the word out slightly, “but what if he calls your bluff and simply never shows up?” she inquired, because she’s nothing if not practical.

Lavellan shrugged. “Then I follow him through the Fade, forever. He can get no rest, no respite, not until either I’m dead or he gives up his plans. He can’t tear down the Veil if I keep him from being able to pull his power from the Fade, which I’ll do as long as I draw breath. He will never be rid of me, and it will slow him down enough to buy us the time to find another option.”

Bull actually chuckled when she said that. He chuckled! He tried to turn it into a cough, but no one missed the grin he smothered behind his hand. He was impressed. It broke the tension a little, and the corner Lavellan’s mouth quirked up in that same half-smile she used to get when one of us cracked an inappropriate joke and even though she knew she shouldn’t encourage us, she couldn’t help it. That happened a lot, especially with you and I around. It was nice to see.

“Not a bad plan, boss.” Iron Bull clapped one enormous hand on Lavellan’s shoulder, and she swayed forward slightly from the force of the gesture.

“It is, actually,” she replied with a wry smile, “but it’s the only one I have, so thank you. Now, I have to go prepare myself. Vivienne, please find me in the lyrium wards when you are ready.” She pitched her voice a little louder and stared hard at Cassandra’s tent. “And Cassandra will join us when she is done brooding.”

“I am not brooding!” Cassandra snapped, broodily, from her tent. Lavellan stood and walked deeper into the ruins. Vivienne asked Iron Bull to pick up her crate, but carefully - apparently because it contained vials of even more lyrium - and followed. Cassandra huffed out of her tent shortly thereafter, muttering something under her breath as she walked off.

\---

**Here the letter changes briefly to another hand. It is graceful and neat.**

\---

_Varric isn’t able to tell you everything - those lyrium wards? They weren’t just wards. We inscribed them with enough runes and enchanted them with enough spells to imprison a dozen Archdemons, in theory. We didn’t know what they were for, but we knew we didn’t want to stick around to find out. We hypothesize that they would only work because Solas has already weakened the Veil nearly to the point of collapse, especially in the Dales, and -_

\---

**The original handwriting resumes.**

\---

A man can’t even get up for ten minutes to get himself an ale and take a little break without someone stealing his quill! That was Bethany, who is staying with me in Kirkwall for the moment while we wait for her sister to join us. She was one of the mages who helped create the lyrium wards. She is also a sneak who shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to her.

Right, let’s continue. We waited barely another full day. Lavellan instructed Bull and his men to be ready to defend Vivienne with everything they had in them, just in case Solas had a trick or two up his sleeve. Vivenne, for her part, would be feeding magical energy directly into the lyrium wards, and had to keep them fully powered, I guess, or they wouldn’t work. That’s why she brought lyrium vials with her - there was no way she would have the energy to do it on her own. Still, if anyone had enough will to pull it off, it was her. Cassandra would flank Lavellan, just in case, while she did whatever it was that she had planned. All we knew was that it had something to do with that enchanted fucking arm. 

I never should have let Bianca make it for her. Without it, without what binding it to those lyrium tattoos did to Lavellan, I have a hunch that none of this would have been possible. Not that I blame you, Sparkler, or the kid, for doing it when she asked. We all played a part. We thought we were helping her get back a little bit of the spark that Solas stole when he abandoned her. Even with what happened next… I think we did the best we could with the options we had at the time. No one could have guessed what she’d do, what she’d become, just to take down that damn elf bastard.

Just before dawn began to warm the sky, with no warning whatsoever, Lavellan dashed out of her tent and into the ruins. Everyone leapt into action at once: Cassandra and Vivenne ran after her, followed shortly by Bull and his men. I stayed near the back of the herd, Bianca (the crossbow, not the person) cocked, for whatever good I thought it would do.

Vivienne had already pressed her hands against one of the lyrium wards by the time I rounded the corner of the ruins; they all glowed sickly against the backdrop of the pink sky. Bull and his Chargers surrounded her, weapons held at ready. Cassandra stood, sword drawn, behind Lavellan, who was on her knees just outside of the circle of wards. She was whispering something, lips barely moving and eyes downcast, both hands pressed to the earth before her. I could feel something radiating outward from where she sat, a hum beneath my feet. It reminded me of the Stone, when it sings to the Dwarves - but if it was a song, I sure couldn’t understand it. It made my skin crawl.

And then, stepping out from the gloom still untouched by the dawning sun, there he was. It was melodramatic and ridiculous, Sparkler, but I swear to Andraste that is exactly how it happened. Solas, the Dread Wolf - or whatever he decided to call himself after he disappeared on us and broke Lavellan’s heart - just stood there, casual as you please, hands behind his back, looking down at Lavellan as though he only came around for a social call. When she finally returned his gaze, it was fierce and unflinching, and for a long time, no one moved.

“Ahn ane ma esayas, vhenan?” (Vivienne told me what he said, after, so I knew what to write down. To me, it was just gibberish at the time. Apparently, he’d asked what she was trying to accomplish. Where’s Sera when you need her? Too elfy.)

Lavellan said nothing, just pinned him squarely with her furious gaze, and Solas sank down on his haunches to come face-to-face with her. Her eyes never left his, and her hands remained pressed against the dirt. There could have been no one else there at all - or all of Thedas, for that matter - and I don’t think it would have made a difference. They were locked in their own little world, a tempest of wills. Her stare could have bored a hole through solid iron, but he never broke from it.

“What do you think to do here, heart?”

Unanswering, with tragedy etched over her face, Lavellan just watched him as she raised her hand - her false hand, whose lyrium veins were lit with the same magic that shimmered in the wards and the air around us - and out of her flat palm and spread fingers, blue fire erupted. I can’t explain it any other way. It streamed out of her hand toward Solas, surrounded the circle of lyrium pillars to form a dome. It crawled up her skin, flickered in her hair, stained the ground beneath them both. Where it came from, how she did it, I don’t know. Later, when I asked, Vivienne didn’t know, Cassandra didn’t know. Probably, you don’t know either. 

Also, Bethany didn’t lie earlier when she wrote that the mage-scholars had made a prison out of those lyrium wards. That’s exactly what it looked like. A prison of pure energy with Solas trapped inside and Lavellan holding the door shut. Guard or jailer, maybe both.

At this, Vivienne called to Bull, and he tossed her a vial of lyrium which she shot back like it was fine whiskey, never taking her hand off the ward or her eyes off of Lavellan. Cassandra tensed, as did Iron Bull and his Chargers. Solas’s face had darkened. He must have begun to realize that Lavellan knew something he didn’t - surprise, asshole! - and it ticked him off. Sparks came off of him and he threw an arm up - not at Lavellan, but toward all of us - but the magic pinged ineffectually against the shimmering dome. I know, deep in my gut, that if that barrier hadn’t worked, we’d all be dead from whatever he had tried to do. The wards throbbed with energy.

Solas came to his knees, a mirror image of Lavellan, and raised his hand as if to rest it on the blue light of the barrier, almost like their palms could touch. He was trying to stop her, to take it down, that much was clear. The calculated concentration on his face was no match for the ferocity on hers. She was winning the battle of wills. The wards flared and Vivienne cried out, more in anger than in pain. Bull held his sword aloft - for all the good that would have done - and handed Vivienne more lyrium.

“It had to be this way.” Lavellan finally spoke, and for just a moment, Solas’s attention wavered, and the lyrium wards dimmed slightly. Then he frowned at her, and the wards lit again. “Solas, look at me. Hear me.” 

His gaze flicked in annoyance to Cassandra, who was glowering at him over Lavellan’s head, before returning to rest on the woman in front of him. “What could you possibly say to me now?” he asked her, regret plainly visible in his eyes. “That I can still be redeemed? That there is still a chance? Still hope for us, this world, if I choose to listen?” His voice was dry, bitter with resentment - for himself, for her.

“There is always hope, ma lath. But no, there is no chance.” Lavellan shifted, moving closer to where he knelt beyond the barrier, the only thing keeping them from bodily contact. I could barely hear her over the crackle of magic. The sun, nearly risen, tinted everything with a warmth that the scene didn’t warrant. “This is magic that existed long before you, before your actions condemned us,” she continued. “It was never touched by the Veil. It was the foundation on which your people - the ones for whom you’d sacrifice so much - built their empire. It cannot be undone.” She looked away from him briefly, and when she turned back, she had an air of resignation. Her words carried the weight of a death sentence. I know she’d wanted to save him, somehow - but now, it was too late. What she’d started couldn’t be stopped.

Solas must have finally begun to realize the inevitability of his failure. His eyes flashed and I heard a thud behind me. A bird had fallen out of the sky, changed into solid stone. Vivienne held out a hand for more lyrium, tossed it back. The barrier pulsed. Solas tried again, but this time, nothing. He glared at Lavellan, and for the first time I saw uncertainty on his face, the idea that he may be wrong beginning to become clear. Lavellan was steadfast, lit with anger and love and pain all at once. She was like fire, crackling with an energy I’ve never seen, not even in the ancient deposits of red lyrium. 

It dawned on him only moments before it hit all of us - she hadn’t simply discovered a weapon to wield, she’d become a weapon, and she held herself before him like an executioner’s blade, shining in the morning light. That realization in his eyes triggered something in her. 

I don’t really know how to explain what happened next, Dorian. It was… there was a sensation. The air was heavy, like you feel when you’re particularly drunk, or trying to move through murky water. It was palpable and oppressive. One of the Chargers actually dropped their weapon in surprise and had to scramble to pick it back up again at Bull’s angry barked order. Even Cassandra gasped. The closest I can come to describing it is that it felt the way I imagine dying must feel. All the energy being pulled and pressed out of you, leaving you powerless to stop it.

Without moving a muscle, Lavellan had changed. I’d seen something like it before, when the apostate mage Anders channeled his spirit, Justice, but not this intense. This rivaled the sun rising in the sky above us. Her lyrium veins shone, her eyes crackled with blue light. She seemed to become made of pure magic. It hurt to look at her.

It must have shocked Solas, because his hand dropped heavily to his side and his eyes narrowed as he registered the change. “Vhenan, what have you done?” came his harsh whisper, and for the first time since Skyhold, I could see the man beneath the mask.

Lavellan smiled at that, though for what reason, I’ll never know. In one fluid motion, before anyone could stop her, she reached through the barrier and encircled Solas’s wrist with the enchanted hand. It was like a bomb went off. Vivienne screamed and fell to the ground, Cassandra lurched forward toward Lavellan as if to pull her away, Bull held his men back with one arm and shouted at them to get to the Enchanter. Everything was chaos.

But I saw them, Dorian. For one moment, I saw them both so clearly, through the light and the lyrium and the shock of magic. She whispered something to him, brought her other hand, her real hand, to his face, and pressed her lips to his. Light crawled over their skin, obscuring their features. There was a blinding flash. Then they both collapsed.

In less than a heartbeat, it was over. Cassandra caught only air where seconds before, Lavellan’s shoulder would have been. Krem pulled Vivienne up, who ordered him to hold his position, keeping her eyes on the spot where Lavellan fell. Bull stepped one foot forward but paused. 

They were both dead, Dorian. Beyond dead. They were empty shells. It’s like all the life had been sucked from them, leaving only skin and bones and withered muscle. They looked like a dead darkspawn, but even those you can tell were once living creatures. We only knew who we were looking at because we’d seen them moments before, alive, and because Lavellan’s body was still etched with lyrium gone dark. The enchanted arm had shattered, broken into dozens of pieces on the ground between them. 

A sob ripped from Cassandra before she could stop it, and she came down hard on the dirt next to the corpses. She slowly reached out, almost touching what used to be our Inquisitor, our friend, but did not. Could not.

Iron Bull finally came to her side. I heard him tell her it would be okay, that he’s got this one, boss. He scooped Lavellan’s body up in one arm, cradling it gently to his chest. Grim followed shortly to collect what remained of Solas. All the while, Cassandra just knelt, staring at the ground where they’d fallen. Krem took Vivienne back to camp, and after a few moments, I turned away from our Seeker and returned, too. 

And that was it, Sparkler. That’s the end of the story. Eventually Cassandra did get back to camp, taking over the work of wrapping Lavellan’s remains. They’d already prepared funeral pyres a short distance away, she explained, at Lavellan’s request. We broke camp, packed everything up, and carried the bodies to a green, quiet grove, just barely inside the border of the Dalish woods. Then we lit the pyres and watched as Lavellan turned to ash beside the man she’d loved.

I can’t help but think that she wanted it to end this way. Locked in the Fade with him, forever. I don’t know if a spirit can hate another spirit, but I hope not. I hope, once they got there, that all they remembered was what was good and pure and true. No Dread Wolf, no Inquisitor, no demons, no darkspawn, no Old Gods. Just each other. That’s what I’ll tell myself, anyway. Not sure I could sleep peacefully otherwise.

Well, Sparkler, it was a hell of a ride. I don’t know about you, but even though I wish we’d all ended up at a better destination, I’m glad it’s over. Next time we play a game of Wicked Grace, we’ll do it in her honor. I bet that’ll get Curly to join us, too. Whenever it happens, I’ll send you the invitation.

Stay safe over there in Tevinter, my friend.

\-- Varric

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**At the bottom of the page, in a messy scrawl, is another message. A splash of blue ink has soaked through the lower corner.**

**_“Softly, sweetly, their souls singing the same and he finally smiles, her spirit secure with his. ‘Ar dirtha'var'en, ma lath’, she’d said. Together, twined, twirling through the Veil - not hurting, but happy. Whole. ‘Ar lath ma, vhenan, ara ena'vun’, he’d answered, awake again after so long…”_ **

**A hastily-added addendum is barely legible next to the splotch of blue, the words marred by the spilled ink.**

**_“She says thank you.”_ **


End file.
